


A Hands On Approach

by ficforthought



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Jack Kline, First Time, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Oral Fixation, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26103454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficforthought/pseuds/ficforthought
Summary: One of the things that never ceases to amaze him is how long Jack’s fingers are for his overall frame. They’re not freakishly long, they’re just longer than you’d expect someone of Jack’s height to have, and they’re slender in the same way as the rest of him. More than once Dean’s marvelled at the fact those fingers, the conduit for Jack’s powers being thrown out into the world are so elegant,delicate, even, the skin smooth and unmarred by calluses and past breaks like a couple of his own. Even his nails are neat and well cared for, barely a speck of dirt ever under them despite them digging up a grave a few hours ago. They look so soft, too, and the thought of touching them gets Dean hard in no time if he allows himself to go down that path.
Relationships: Jack Kline/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	A Hands On Approach

**Author's Note:**

> I don't deny that this is completely self indulgent hand porn because I have _such_ a thing for Alex's hands...well, Alex in general (duh!) but seriously, those hands are spectacular and the show has blessed us with so many close ups I'm convinced I'm not the only one with that obsession! ;)

Dean’s not blind, he’s aware that Jack’s attractive...more than that, the kid is fucking _hot_. He also knows he _shouldn’t_ be aware but it’s hard not to notice the slender frame, long limbs, tight ass, wide, soulful blue eyes and soft smiles that draw attention to plush, pink lips. It’s a lethal combination on the best of days but today his attention is firmly elsewhere, and it’s happening more and more frequently. His eyes are being drawn to a part of Jack’s body that he’s never really paid attention to on anyone else before, but now he’s become obsessed and it’s getting to be a problem because _those fucking hands_ are mesmerising.  
  
He’s not sure when he first noticed them but once he did, it’s all gone to shit. It’s always innocent on Jack’s part, thankfully he’s blissfully unaware of the thoughts running through Dean’s head and the way his cock twitches when the kid does the simplest of things. The way his coffee cup is dwarfed by the boy’s large palm, the already small cup seeming even smaller in Jack’s grip. The way he gently smoothes his fingers over the pages of a book, the way they seem to fly over the keyboard when he’s immersed in research, even the way they lay limply on his crossed legs when he’s watching a movie is all kinds of sexy to Dean.  
  
Right now it’s just the two of them, gone midnight by the time they got back from a hunt, an open pizza box between them on the kitchen table. Dean thought his body was too tired from hours of driving and being thrown against a wall by the poltergeist for anything more than food and a beer, but that was before the kid started what in the older man’s opinion is a free porn show, and his dick is certainly not showing signs of exhaustion.  
  
Jack is holding a beer bottle in one hand and the other is plucking pieces of pepperoni off a slice of pizza. Dean’s gaze is flitting between the two, like so often when Jack’s hands are doing something, not sure where to settle. When the kid lifts a piece of the meat to his mouth then starts to suck the grease off his fingers Dean’s face flushes and he figures it’s safer to dip his head and concentrate on the one the kid has wrapped around the bottle in front of him, at least that way his gawping will be less obvious… he hopes.  
  
One of the things that never ceases to amaze him is how long Jack’s fingers are for his overall frame. They’re not freakishly long, they’re just longer than you’d expect someone of Jack’s height to have, and they’re slender in the same way as the rest of him. More than once Dean’s marvelled at the fact those fingers, the conduit for Jack’s powers being thrown out into the world are so elegant, _delicate_ , even, the skin smooth and unmarred by calluses and past breaks like a couple of his own. Even his nails are neat and well cared for, barely a speck of dirt ever under them despite them digging up a grave a few hours ago. They look so soft, too, and the thought of touching them gets Dean hard in no time if he allows himself to go down that path.  
  
Jack is saying something but all Dean can do is watch as the kid’s hand slides from the middle of the bottle up to the neck, gorgeous fingers curling tighter to wrap around the glass, and the eroticism of the gesture hits like a punch in the gut. Not for the first time the hunter wonders what those fingers would look like wrapped around Jack’s cock, and if the kid actually does that at night, just doors away from Dean’s own room. Many a night the image of it in his head has the hunter hard and leaking into his own hand, his thoughts inevitably turning to imagining what Jack’s hand would look like around _Dean’s_ cock. He can picture every detail of Jack’s hand and transfer it to his fantasy of long, pale and nimble fingers around his thick shaft, the kid’s pale skin a stark contrast to the flushed, red head of Dean’s dick.  
  
The hunter blinks back into awareness of the present when he hears his name being repeated in a worried tone. He looks up to Jack’s face to see concern written all over it.  
  
“Is everything OK, Dean? You look…” he pauses, his eyes skimming over the older man’s face and chest, “well I don’t really know. You’re breathing like you’ve been running, is something wrong?”  
  
Dean’s cheeks flood with heat from embarrassment as well as arousal and he reflexively brings his beer to his mouth, emptying the half full bottle with a few deep swallows, “I’m fine,” he says afterwards, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “guess that bitch winded me more than I thought, that’s all,” he lies, clutching his ribs to sell it. As he presses his fingers into the tender area he finds it’s not that much of an exaggeration, a couple of ribs are definitely cracked but he’s had much worse.  
  
Jack blinks at him, a small frown creasing his smooth forehead for a moment, “Do you need me to take a look?” he waves a greasy hand over his shoulder indicating the cupboard with the first aid supplies in, “I can wrap them for you.”  
  
“ _I’m fine_ , Jack,” he replies with a little more force than he intended, a combination of panic and lust at the thought of the kid’s hands on him in any way. He feels immediately guilty at the slight wince the nephilim can’t hold back, “sorry, buddy, just tired, ya know?”  
  
Jack nods, warily, but says nothing. He keeps looking at Dean, though, and it makes the hunter fidget under the scrutiny, his guilty conscience getting the better of him. When the kid breaks eye contact it’s to look down at his plate, plucking two pieces of pepperoni which are stuck together with cheese, lifting them to his mouth, head tipping back, slick tongue coming out to wrap around it before chewing and letting out a satisfied noise. There are napkins in the holder on the table but Jack forgoes one, instead choosing to clean the greasy mess off his skin, himself.  
  
Dean’s breath catches as he watches Jack’s thumb disappear into his mouth, and then blood rushes simultaneously to his cock and pounds through his ears at the slick noise before Jack moves on to his index finger, sucking it into his mouth almost to the second knuckle. When the kid hums around it before pulling it out with a slick pop it’s all Dean can take, the combination of those fingers and that soft, pink, made for sin mouth, it’s too much for him. His cock jerks and he feels the damp patch in his boxers grow wetter still and a moan slips from between his own lips before he can stop it. Jack's middle finger is halfway to his mouth when it stills in mid air, the frown returning to his face.  
  
“Dean, your lip,” he says, softly.  
  
It takes the older man a moment to realise there’s a hot throbbing in his bottom lip, and another moment to realise he’d been biting on it, reopening the cut on there from the leg of the chair thrown through the air he wasn’t quite quick enough to dodge completely, damn poltergeist. Automatically he licks his lip and tastes the familiar coppery tang of blood, then brings his hand up to wipe away a few drops with the back of his hand. He hears a vague rustling sound as he studies the smear of red on his skin and from the corner of his eye he sees Jack’s hand coming towards his face. His eyes fly up to look at the nephilim, who is offering him a small smile while he holds his index and middle fingers only centimeters away from the older man’s lips.  
  
“Let me?” Jack asks, not elaborating any further until Dean frowns at him, “I can heal it but I need to practise,” he says.  
  
Dean raises his own hand, wrapping his fingers around Jack’s slim wrist to stop him reaching over any further, but he doesn’t push him away, can’t bring himself to, his downstairs brain wanting the closeness even when his upstairs one is screaming at him, “It’s just a cut, kiddo, no big deal.” Jack’s gaze flicks between Dean’s eyes and lips and the hunter feels oddly scrutinised, his heart thumping in his chest. He’s about to pull back when Jack’s eyes take on that damn kicked puppy look, and God damn it, Dean’s resolve crumbles and he lets out a sigh. It’ll only be for a few seconds, it’ll make Jack feel like he’s helping and Dean’s a grown man, he can get himself under control for that long. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head in a very put upon way, “Fine,” he says, ignoring the wriggling in his stomach as Jack’s face breaks into a grin, “if it’ll keep you from hounding me, do it just this once.”  
  
Jack leans forward and presses both fingers very gently to the flesh, and Dean can’t help the sharp inhale of breath at the touch. He hears the mumbled ‘sorry’ from across the table, right before there’s a warm tingle that has nothing to do with the faint glow coming from the nephilim’s hand as he heals the skin. It was a tiny injury compared to some that have been angelically healed before now but it feels different, probably because Jack’s powers aren’t like anything else on Earth...or maybe it’s just _because it’s Jack_.  
  
“Better?” the kid asks, softly, a look on his face that’s half hopeful and half curious.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean croaks, frozen to the spot as Jack’s fingers stay where they are. Nervously, the hunter swallows and licks his lips, briefly catching the kid’s skin with his tongue which draws a small gasp from across the table. Jack flexes his wrist slightly and Dean loosens his grip to let him pull away but to his surprise the nephilim stays where he is. Their eyes meet, again, and Dean’s pretty sure the kid’s breathing a little heavier than before, knows he certainly is himself as Jack lightly strokes over the flesh under his fingertips as if he can’t believe the healing worked.  
  
“Do you hurt anywhere else?” Jack asks, not taking his eyes off where he’s touching. He moves so his fingers apply a little more pressure, the supple flesh giving under it and Dean feels the pull where his lips are parting slightly under Jack’s touch, the kid’s thumb almost resting the older man’s chin as he changes the angle of his hand, slightly.  
  
Reflexively Dean shakes his head, “No,” he rasps, the movement causing Jack’s finger to curl a little to maintain contact. The hunter’s skin prickles all over as he feels the digits rest against the crease of his lips. Again he swallows, his tongue snaking back out to wet the dry flesh, somehow not registering that it will come into contact with skin that’s not his own until it happens.  
  
“ _Dean_ ,” Jack rasps, the word sounding rough and raw, strange to the hunter’s ears because he’s never heard the kid’s voice like that and it goes straight to his aching cock.  
  
There’s a tension in the air, something thick and heavy and Dean feels like if he could hear anything over the pounding in his ears there’d be a sound like a low, electric hum. He suddenly becomes very aware of the hold he has on Jack’s wrist and how he can feel the pulse beneath his fingers, hammering against the thin skin as fast as his own is. He slowly runs his thumb in a small circle and Jack inhales sharply, his eyes briefly flickering to where they’re joined, back to Dean’s eyes and then drop down to his fingers against the older man’s lips.  
  
Dean’s not sure which of them moves first, maybe it’s both of them at once, he doesn’t actually care about anything other than the smooth slide of Jack’s fingers between his lips, right now. He makes a seal around them, testing to see whether Jack will pull away but all the kid does is let out a shaky breath and push in a little further. He feels the change from smooth nail to soft flesh which becomes a little firmer and guesses they’re in his mouth up to the first knuckle. The older man eases back to wet his lips, tightening his grip on Jack’s wrist, then slowly slides his mouth back down over the slim digits. He holds there for a moment, watching the kid’s chest rise and fall quicker, then moves his tongue, rubbing it along the pads of Jack’s fingers, tasting a slight tang of copper, then pizza and underneath it the flavour of clean skin and _Jack_.  
  
For what could be seconds or minutes he loses himself in the feeling of licking and sucking on those fingers he’s been fantasizing about for months, the pleasure of having them sliding over his tongue, the shape of them, the way they feel slim and thick all at once in his mouth. He lets out a moan when a whimper falls from the kid’s lips and that’s what breaks the spell.  
  
“Shit, Jack, I’m sorry, I….” he hisses as he jerks back, almost falling off the bench seat in his haste to get away. He’s filled with shame and it’s a struggle to force himself to look Jack in the eye, but he does it. He’s not surprised to see the kid standing, no doubt to run away, but then he _is_ surprised when Jack’s face sets in that determined look he gets and he moves _towards_ Dean. The older man stands, bracing himself for the punch he’s bound to get, frowning when the kid reaches out and cups his face, “Jack?” he asks, his brain function not allowing for much more.  
  
The nephilim leans forward and presses an uncoordinated kiss to Dean's lips, leaving the older man stunned. When Jack pulls back his eyes are filled with awe and lust, “I thought I was imagining it,” he says, smiling brightly before leaning forward again.  
  
“We can’t,” Dean says when he breaks the kiss, lightly gripping each of Jack’s wrists and pulling them away, “Jack, it’s not…” he doesn’t get any further because Jack’s nodding. Dean’s world tilts a little, there’s the sound of wings flapping and in the blink of an eye they’re in Dean’s bedroom. Jack takes a step back, holding two fingers towards the door - the same fingers that had been in his mouth, the hunter’s brain supplies - turns them slightly and the sound of the lock clicking firmly into place echoes through the quiet room.  
  
“Now we can,” Jack says with a smile, stepping in closer and pressing hot, insistent lips to Dean’s, again. It’s wet, messy and full of unpractised eagerness but right now it’s one of the best things Dean’s ever felt, only bested by the feeling of Jack’s hand wrapping around his suddenly bare cock.  
  
Hours later, the hunter has seen that reality is much hotter than any fantasy he’s had about watching Jack’s hand working his cock, it’s everything he imagined and more. In his head he’d never got as far as to watch in awe as his come dripped from those long, beautiful fingers, and he certainly never imagined how sinful it would look when Jack pushed those fingers into his own mouth to taste before pushing them into Dean’s mouth.  
  
They’ve worked out that Jack’s as obsessed with Dean’s mouth as the older man is with the kid’s hands, which is a bonus for both of them. Dean’s heard how beautifully Jack begs and pleads, watched him shake and fall apart, coming all over his belly and chest seconds before the hunter came deep inside that tight little ass, and they’ve discovered that Jack’s angelic healing means he hardly needs any recovery time before he’s hard and desperate again.  
  
Jack's head is resting heavy on the older man’s shoulder when something occurs to Dean. He lifts his own head to watch the kid tracing his fingers over his still tender ribs, “You haven’t healed them,” Dean says, “I think it’s the least you can do after wearing me out.”  
  
Jack huffs a laugh into the sweaty skin of Dean’s neck before he pushes up on his elbow to look down at him, “I thought I could do that tomorrow.”  
  
“Tomorrow?” Dean asks, wondering what he’s missing, “They kinda hurt _now_ , kiddo, especially after what we just did.”  
  
Jack smiles down at him, curling his hand around Dean’s ribs, “Uh huh, tomorrow...” there’s a knowing glint in his eyes that makes the older man feel a little like he’s being played. The usual look of genuine innocence on Jack’s face is replaced by a completely fake one, “unless you don’t want my hands on you, again, of course...”  
  
Dean groans, knowing he’s doomed. From now on neither of them will be satisfied with anything less than a hands on approach.


End file.
